


From The Gutter To Forever

by tookumade



Series: Haikyuu!! Rarepair Week - 2015 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanamaki watched the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up whenever Iwaizumi appeared, and the way Iwaizumi seemed to come alive a little more whenever Oikawa was around, and he felt his chest tighten every single time.</p><p><i>How did I not see that coming?</i> he thought. <i>It was so obvious.</i></p><p>(written for Haikyuu!! Rarepair Week - Day 4 - childhood, unrequited)</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Gutter To Forever

Growing up with Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime meant that there was never a dull moment around those two.  
  
Hanamaki met them when he was nine years old and they all ended up in the same class at school. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were already best friends but welcomed Hanamaki like they’d known him for just as long, and he was swept with the flow, and glad for it. As long as they were together, it didn’t matter what they did: ride their bikes around the neighbourhood, prod at unusual insects, throw volleyballs back and forth, scrape their knees and cry to their parents, eat ice creams in the shade of the largest tree at the nearby park… they were together, and everything was good.  
  
Or, at least, everything was, until their last year of junior high when Hanamaki realised that he was very likely in love with Oikawa.  
  
They were young and innocent and struggling through adolescence at only fourteen years old and still didn’t know enough about the world and whatever the hell romantic love was, but Hanamaki thought that it was probably something close to this. In his defence (or so he told himself), it was hard not to fall in love with the boy, who only seemed to become cleverer and more good-looking and charismatic as the months passed. The two of them often got caught up in silly schemes that left their friends rolling their eyes and/or Iwaizumi throwing something at Oikawa, and Hanamaki loved that it was never boring around him. He loved that rush, that thrill that was so constant, and when the words _‘I could be happy with him’_ crossed his mind, he realised that things had changed.  
  
He thought about it for days and days. He had heard all sorts of horror stories from other friends about romantic feelings and rejections and ruined friendships, and these stories kept him from saying anything too soon. The thought of Oikawa pushing him away and never speaking to him again made Hanamaki freeze up and feel as though his heart would collapse into itself.  
  
Then again, whenever Oikawa smiled one of his sunnily bright smiles, Hanamaki felt like his heart was about to implode _anyway_ , so…  
  
He told him one day, when they were walking home after school. He told him without words. Iwaizumi had gone on ahead because his mother needed help with something, so it was just the two of them. Oikawa chatted about a group project he was doing for a Japanese history assignment, and Hanamaki half-listened, half-fought down the urge to yell all his nerves out and sprint off to hide away forever. Oikawa’s voice—warm, playful, almost melodious, so familiar—kept him anchored, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep him from doing [what Hanamaki assumed was] something that was extremely stupid.  
  
He stopped walking abruptly. Oikawa was three steps ahead before he noticed and turned to give Hanamaki a quizzical look.  
  
“What’s wrong, Makki?”  
  
Nothing and everything.  
  
Oikawa stepped closer towards him, frowning in concern, and Hanamaki felt the _‘I like you’_ that was forming in his throat die away completely.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Yes. No. No.  
  
With every passing second of silence, every chance to laugh it off as a convincing _‘oh, it’s nothing’_ was also vanishing. He had to do _something_.  
  
Hanamaki reached out and grabbed Oikawa’s hands, cool against his own warm ones. Oikawa stiffened a little in surprise, but didn’t react in any other way. Hanamaki shook slightly as he stared down at them.  
  
Oikawa’s hands said more about him than anything else, he felt; his skin was slightly rough from all his years of volleyball and hard work, despite how delicate his long fingers looked. Hanamaki used to think that Oikawa would snap in half if there was so much as a gust of wind around him, but he grew to learn that it was quite the opposite, no matter how many times Oikawa complained about how rough Iwaizumi was, no matter how many times he cried in their earlier years over a scraped elbow or a badly bruised shin. Sometimes, Hanamaki wondered if _he_ was perhaps the fragile one, especially at a time like this when he felt like he’d whither away from nerves, and it was a little hard to breathe around the beautiful boy.  
  
“Makki?”  
  
Hanamaki’s eyes flickered to meet Oikawa’s gaze, which was now startlingly impassive, like he just _knew_. Oikawa had always been so clever, so good at reading people. That would probably never change.  
  
(Oh, _god_ , if he spent the rest of his life staring at Oikawa like this, he would probably be okay with that.  
  
He couldn’t, though.)  
  
All hesitation abandoning him, Hanamaki leaned in and bent his head a little and kissed him.  
  
It was every bit as awkward as two teens kissing would typically be; Hanamaki kissed him a little too hard, a little too much perhaps, but Oikawa didn’t push him away. It was only when Hanamaki pulled back, that Oikawa smiled at him, but it was a soft and slightly sad smile that made Hanamaki drop his gaze to the ground and unable to look him in the eye again for a while. Oikawa took his hands away.  
  
“Thank you,” said Oikawa quietly, “but I don’t think of you that way.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” was all Hanamaki could manage.  
  
“I know,” said Oikawa. “It’s okay.”  
  
(It wasn’t, but somehow, Oikawa always knew how to make things okay. That was another thing Hanamaki loved about him.)  
  
They carried on as usual, still joking around and getting up to no good and earning the exasperation and occasional ire of Iwaizumi. Oikawa didn’t behave differently and Hanamaki tried not to, either. But getting over his crush was proving to be more difficult than he first thought, not helped by all the times Oikawa pulled him aside to make sure he was okay.  
  
‘I just want to make sure things are still good between us’ (“They are, really.”), and ‘you’re one of my closest friends, and I don’t want to lose that’ (“Me neither.”), and ‘you’ll find someone else, I know you will, but it’s not me, and I’m sorry’ (“I know. Thank you. Don’t apologise.”)—his words were kind but if anything, they made things worse, and Hanamaki found himself wishing more than once that Oikawa was a coward who would look away from him. But Oikawa wouldn’t; he wasn’t a coward, he meant well, and he cared too much.

But Hanamaki just didn’t have the heart to run away whenever Oikawa spoke to him in that reassuring way that he always did. Part of him wasn’t sure whether it was because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand the look of disappointment on Oikawa's face if he did, or whether it was because—no matter how hard he tried not to—he still loved the weight of Oikawa’s hand on his arm, the closeness between them, and the ways Oikawa reminded him that he cared (just not in the ways that Hanamaki wished he did).  
  
He did occasionally wonder what would it take for Oikawa to return his feelings, how he could improve himself, how he could make him happy. Even at their young age, it took a lot to understand Oikawa and recognise his subtle cues and know when he was upset or when he genuinely enjoyed something or only pretended to. Hanamaki knew he still hadn’t given up completely when he caught himself studying the way Oikawa interacted with Iwaizumi and trying to pick up hints, because _Iwaizumi_ always knew. Those two had always understood each other on a different level altogether.  
  
And Hanamaki realised. He watched the way Oikawa’s eyes lit up whenever Iwaizumi appeared, and the way Iwaizumi seemed to come alive a little more whenever Oikawa was around, and he felt his chest tighten every single time.  
  
_How did I not see that coming?_ he thought. _It was so obvious._  
  
—  
  
It wasn’t as though Hanamaki was slow on the uptake, but he supposed that one thing about growing up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi meant that it was difficult differentiating between what was closeness due to them knowing each other for as long as they did, and what was them actually falling in love with each other. Each glance between the two, every fond shared smile, every touch—an easy grasp of a sleeve, a firm hand on a shoulder, a light but stern tap with their fist, an arm around their shoulders—they all spoke volumes, and Hanamaki mentally beat himself up for not recognising the signs earlier.  
  
It felt like a defeat in a way, but eventually, it became a little easier for Hanamaki to finally give up on Oikawa. Less easy was ignoring the stinging feeling that remained in his chest—there was the feeling of heartbreak, which he supposed was to be expected, but it was also mingled with the feeling of jealousy, and it was that jealousy that scared him and made him feel disgusted with himself, and he fought hard to push it away. What mattered was Oikawa’s happiness, and if anyone could make him happy, it would be Iwaizumi ( _lucky him,_ the jealousy whispered). That was good. That would be enough. Hanamaki repeated this to himself often.  
  
( _God_ , please let this be enough.)  
  
The end of junior high was fast approaching, and Hanamaki came home from school one day to find his mother ending a phone conversation. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he had seen her look so excited.  
  
“One of my closest friends is moving back here next year!” she said when Hanamaki shuffled into the kitchen to pour himself some juice. “Her husband received a good job offer in Sendai, so she and her family are looking for properties around this area. I haven’t seen her in fifteen years!”  
  
Hanamaki smiled slightly. “That’s nice,” he said.  
  
“She has a son about your age, you could try talking to him. I think he plays volleyball, too.”  
  
“Uh, maybe.”  
  
Something in his voice made his mother turn to him, and she reached out to squish his face between her hands.  
  
“What’s wrong, Takahiro?” she said, frowning.  
  
He swatted her away gently. “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”  
  
“You’ve looked pretty tired for the past couple of days. Do you want me to book an appointment with the doctor?”  
  
“ _No_ , I’m fine. It’s just school. I’m just… over junior high.”  
  
His mother looked sympathetic. “Senior high usually isn’t that much of an improvement, though,” she said. “It’s something you’ll need to get used to.”  
  
Hanamaki shrugged. “I think I just need something… new. A change of scenery or whatever.”  
  
“Mm, that _would_ be good.” His mother nodded in agreement. Hanamaki downed his juice without another word.  
  
The truth was, he wasn’t sure how much of a change of scenery senior high would be. He would be attending Aoba Jousai High with Oikawa and Iwaizumi; many of their current schoolmates would also be attending, so there would be familiar faces; and the school wasn’t far from his house nor the junior high, so the route to and from wouldn’t be drastically different, either.  
  
More than once, Hanamaki found himself questioning whether all this was good or bad. Familiarity was always reassuring, but… was he okay with such a constant routine? On the other hand, breaking away from routine was a frightening prospect, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that yet. And so, he pushed it to the back of his mind.  
  
The start of senior high school arrived sooner than he felt he was ready for. Hanamaki, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi laughed at each other in their new uniforms once they’d all arrived at the school gates, but Hanamaki thought those two looked quite good. Oikawa fit the white blazer well—of _course_ he did—and caught the eye of many other students as they walked to the entrance ceremony; Iwaizumi suited the look in a different way that was harder to explain. It had only been a handful of weeks since the end of junior high, but he looked a few years older somehow; taller, bigger, sharper. Hanamaki’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
Wait.  
  
What?  
  
What was that?  
  
—  
  
Hanamaki tried to ignore it, that feeling of his heart jumping or his stomach swooping whenever Iwaizumi stood too close, or entered the room a little too quickly, or even just _looked_ his way. He tried to tell himself that it was just new-school nerves, as he struggled to focus on what their teachers were telling the class, attempted to remember new maths formulas or difficult English words, and tried to keep up with the Aoba Jousai volleyball club’s training schedules.  
  
Who the hell was he kidding?  
  
Everything that was likeable and admirable about Iwaizumi—everything Hanamaki already knew—seemed to be accentuated: his ready smile, his full laugh, his sharp wit, the way he encouraged and held the first years together in the volleyball club with just the right words, the way he was so dependable. At some point, before Hanamaki realised what was going on, Iwaizumi had stopped being that rough-and-tumble, band-aided, bug-catching kid, and had become… whatever he was right now that kept making Hanamaki’s heart do weird things whenever he was around. There was a rush, a constant thrill from just being around him, and Hanamaki thought, ‘ _I could be happy with him_ ’, but in a way that was so inexplicably different from when he had feelings for Oikawa.  
  
He knew this shouldn’t be happening. He knew, deep down, that Iwaizumi would never return his feelings; knew that Oikawa already held the place of number one and that would never change; knew that those two were the closest best friends he had ever met and that they had a bond that was hard to describe in simple words and harder still to break. Hanamaki also risked ruining the friendship he had managed to keep with Oikawa if he were to push for it, and he didn’t want that, he didn’t want to lose either of them.  
  
And yet, as he and Iwaizumi gripped hands during their arm-wrestling battles right before Hanamaki lost for the hundredth-something time, or when he watched Iwaizumi spike one of Oikawa’s beautiful tosses and couldn’t tell the difference between the sound of the ball bouncing or his heart pounding, or when they sat somewhere quiet and talked about things Hanamaki didn’t even remember, just the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice that was both rough and soft at the same time, or when Iwaizumi threw his head back and laughed in a way that made Hanamaki wish he could bottle sound and listen to it whenever he was feeling down, Hanamaki couldn’t help it.  
  
He never told him. He had a feeling that Oikawa also already knew because he could read people so easily and Hanamaki had never been all that great at hiding his feelings anyway, and Oikawa had probably also guessed that Hanamaki wouldn’t dare confess. He wasn’t sure whether or not Oikawa was doing him a kindness by never mentioning it. Regardless, Hanamaki kept his secret close to him and Iwaizumi never found out, and things went on as usual. As the days passed by agonisingly slowly, Hanamaki told himself as often as he could that they were just friends, they were just friends, they were just friends…  
  
(But it was hard watching Iwaizumi and Oikawa look at each other like they hung the moon and painted the stars every night, just for the two of them.)  
  
“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asked him one day, when the two of them were walking to volleyball practice after school.  
  
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“You just seem a bit… distant these days.”  
  
“Really? It’s probably just all the schoolwork,” said Hanamaki, knowing full well what the real reason was. “It’s harder than I thought and I’m having trouble keeping up, so I’m really out of it.”  
  
“Well… Oikawa and I were planning on studying together at the library tomorrow, if you want to join us.”  
  
_Together_. It was a strange word, and it sounded horrible and unfamiliar.  
  
“Uh… nah, I’m fine,” said Hanamaki. “My mother wants me home tomorrow. Something about… family friends, I think. Thanks anyway.”  
  
Iwaizumi gave him a skeptical look, but didn’t press it. “Sure,” he said quietly. “But come join us whenever you want to, okay?”  
  
_Us_. Just Iwaizumi and Oikawa.  
  
Hanamaki forced a smile. “Thanks.”  
  
They reached the gymnasium and spotted Oikawa. His face lit up, and Iwaizumi’s expression became that of an exasperated fondness that had only ever been reserved for him. He immediately headed over to join Oikawa, and Hanamaki watched him go, wondering when was the last time he had lied to him, when was it that he had started overthinking his words so much, when he began to think of himself as an outsider.

Because Hanamaki loved them both, but he had learned to do so as friends and nothing more. He had kept many of his feelings at bay, and it had served him well; it was dishonest, but it was enough to hold onto his friends, and it was enough to keep him happy with what he had.  
  
They probably loved him too, but much more honestly. They loved him like good friends loved each other, but that was… different. There was no room for him in their world of two—never had been, now that he thought about it—not without destroying something so good, and Hanamaki felt that he had neither the courage nor the cowardice to do that.  
  
And so he took a step back and continued to smile and act like his heart hadn’t been broken twice, like he didn’t feel alone, like his chest didn’t have a growing twisted feeling of jealousy that sometimes made him want to cry and scream. He loved them from a distance and wished he didn’t.  
  
—  
  
It was nearly one semester into their first year of senior high school.  
  
By now, Hanamaki had developed a routine for himself, though it was admittedly not a very healthy one: wake up wishing he didn’t have to go to school; go to school; avert his gaze whenever Oikawa and Iwaizumi looked at each other in That Way (which was often); blush with embarrassment and stare down at his desk whenever his teachers caught him spacing out in class; go home; fend off his parents’ questions of why he looked so tired; do his homework; scribble out a scrawl he would find of Iwaizumi’s name in his notebook margins that he had forgotten about; draw out his name again in a different place; go to bed; hug his pillow tightly until he fell asleep. Repeat the cycle every day.  
  
Until one Sunday, when things finally took a different turn.  
  
He was eating lunch that his mother had made at home, when she said to him, “Takahiro, remember my friend I mentioned? She and her family moved in yesterday, and since their house is still a mess, I’ve invited them over for dinner–”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Tonight.”  
  
“Uh, I’m… going out,” said Hanamaki.  
  
His mother gave him a stern look. “That’s not–”  
  
“I’m studying with Oikawa,” Hanamaki fibbed, “and his parents already said they were making dinner for us so… it would be rude to not go.”  
  
She pursed her lips, but then sighed. “I suppose,” she said. “But next time they come over, you can’t go anywhere, all right? You need to be here and eating with everyone.”  
  
Hanamaki made non-committal sounds of vague agreement before finishing off his lunch and escaping to his room, where he flopped onto his bed and stayed that way for several minutes, just listening to the sounds of his mother pottering around the house and humming. He would be content just lying like this for the whole of today and tomorrow, avoiding everyone.  
  
But he _had_ told his mother he would be going out, so it was either spend some quiet time alone out of the house, or be awkward around a bunch of strangers and listen to the adults discuss his future like he wasn’t there and gossip about… housing prices or something. He didn’t have much of a choice.  
  
He attempted homework for a few hours until it was nearly six o’clock, when he changed into his jeans, a shirt, a light sweater, and a warm jacket, and grabbed a bag and shoved a maths textbook and notebook in to make his charade more believable, and then went to pull on his shoes at the front door. His mother watched him do up his shoelaces.  
  
“My friend’s son will also be attending your school,” she said. “Tomorrow will be his first day, so I was wondering if you could walk with–”  
  
“I, uh,” said Hanamaki loudly, “I’m going to get there early to study with… classmates.”  
  
She fixed him with another steely gaze, and he added quickly, “I’m worried about my Japanese test coming up, and I _really_ need to study. And anyway, the school’s close by, he can just… walk. He won’t get lost. Probably.”  
  
His mother huffed at him. “Well, when you see him at school, be nice to him, will you?” she said. “He won’t know anyone just yet, so try to make him feel welcome. His name is–”  
  
Hanamaki sprinted out the door. “Bye!”  
  
“ _Takahiro!_ ”  
  
Typical, that his mother would expect him to become good friends with the guy, just because he was her friend’s son. Things didn’t always work that way.  
  
Hanamaki bought himself some dumplings from a nearby convenience store and ate them as he walked around aimlessly, steering clear of his street and Iwaizumi’s and Oikawa’s street, just in case he ran into either of them. He hoped his mother wouldn’t call Oikawa’s house to check on him; he hadn’t planned for that.  
  
He stopped at the edge of the river that ran through the area, dimly lit only by the streetlights lining the footpath nearby. The night sky was beautiful and surprisingly clear. Hanamaki stood there silently for a while with his head tilted back as he stared up at the scatter of visible stars. As with just about everything else in his life, they reminded him of his friends. Oikawa loved the stars and could spend hours observing them, if not for Iwaizumi noticing that it was getting cold or late and their parents would be worried, or knowing that Oikawa could end up staying awake all night if he got too immersed.  
  
Hanamaki smiled wistfully, imagining his friends bickering as Oikawa tried to negotiate a few more minutes of star-gazing and Iwaizumi tried to physically drag him away. He imagined them doing so as ten-year-olds, he imagined them at fifteen. It was the same; very little had changed since then.  
  
So… why did it feel so different?  
  
His jaw clenched.  
  
Why had he messed up so badly? Why did he have to go and like Oikawa in _that_ way? Why couldn’t he fully get over his stupid crush on Iwaizumi? Why was he so hyper-aware of how close those two were? Why did it make him so jealous, unlike their earlier years together when it didn’t used to bother him at all?  
  
_Nothing had changed._  
  
Tears welled up in his eyes.  
  
_Nothing had fucking changed._  
  
He shoved his hands into his pockets and blinked furiously.  
  
“Take it away,” he said through gritted teeth, staring hard at the sky. “Please take it away, I hate it. Make it go away.”  
  
The stars weren’t listening. It didn’t go away, that awful monster that was envy in his chest, nor that _thing_ that was the feeling of heartbreak, nor the dull ache forming in his throat. He jammed his palms against his eyes and despite his best efforts, let out a soft sob.  
  
He curled into a ball, head buried in his arms, which were rested on his knees. His hands clutched his sleeves tightly, and he wanted so badly to stop crying, but he couldn’t.  
  
What would his friends do if they saw him like this, a spectacular mess?  
  
They’d comfort him, probably; they had always been good at that, no matter if he was crying or just had a bad day. Oikawa would put his arm around his shoulders and Iwaizumi would probably say something blunt that would make Oikawa chide him, and they would dissolve into another round of bickering, which would make Hanamaki laugh and feel better soon after.  
  
_God_ , it was so easy for them.  
  
Maybe he didn’t know what romantic love really was yet, but he was pretty sure he knew plenty about heartbreak. Getting over his crush on Oikawa should have been enough, but his crush on Iwaizumi threw everything out the window. Now, he had no idea where he stood to them, and he questioned everything more than ever before. Was he not good enough for them? Was there something wrong with him? If there was a problem with the way he acted, Oikawa and Iwaizumi probably would’ve told him already. But they hadn’t say anything, so…  
  
_Dammit_. How often had he depended on them, clung to them? They were the world to him, but he probably wasn’t the world to them, or maybe they just weren’t as naïve as he was. Their world was ever-expanding; he still held on to days long gone.  
  
He couldn’t continue on like this. Something had to give.  
  
Hanamaki wiped his tears on his jeans and sniffed loudly, glad that no one was nearby to hear him or see him.  
  
“Get it together, dumbass,” he muttered to himself, repeating it like a stern mantra.  
  
They would leave him behind one day, and he had to accept this fact, no matter how much it scared him. They would each graduate from high school and maybe go to separate universities, or Oikawa and Iwaizumi would become star volleyball players and join the national team, and Hanamaki would continue on to do whatever it was that caught his eye. They would still be friends and he had no doubt about that, but he couldn’t keep holding onto them as they all grew up.  
  
Yes, something had to give.  
  
Hanamaki’s crying eased until the tears stopped.  
  
Things were constantly changing, and he knew he couldn’t let himself fall behind, no matter how many times his heart broke, no matter how often he wished the world would slow down for just a moment so he could catch up. He had new things to try, new places to go, new things to learn about himself that he was still yet to discover, new people to meet, new friends to make… hell, outside of his friendship with Oikawa and Iwaizumi ( _just friendship_ , he reminded himself), he didn’t really hang out with anyone else. There were classmates and teammates he enjoyed speaking to and considered friends, but no one he ever thought about dragging out to hang out with after school or on a weekend.  
  
He could try changing that. It was a good place to start.  
  
Everything was so overwhelming, but he couldn’t spend his whole life being too scared to move forward. Oikawa and Iwaizumi wouldn’t want that, either.  
  
And this wasn’t about them anymore. This was about him. This was about him growing up.  
  
Hanamaki stood up and wiped his eyes with his palms once more, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and held it for three seconds, and then slowly, slowly, exhaled.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said quietly, staring up at the night sky again. “I’m going to be fine.”  
  
It didn’t matter if the stars weren’t listening. Tomorrow would be a new day.  
  
—  
  
The next day, Hanamaki woke up half an hour earlier than usual because he had told his mother he needed to do so, and he swore it would not happen again if he could help it, because _urgh, precious sleep._  
  
But he felt that all the crying he had done last night had helped. He had bottled up a lot over such a long period of time, that getting it off his chest in a flood of tears had felt rather good. And all those things he had told himself—about not relying so much on other people, about finding his own way, about growing up and moving on—well… they didn’t scared him as much as they used to.  
  
“I’ll be okay,” he whispered.  
  
He climbed out of bed and got ready for school. It was a cool and breezy morning, and the overcast sky threatened rain. It was a beautiful day.  
  
Hanamaki made a few small changes to his daily routine: aside from getting up earlier, he listened to a few songs from bands he liked as he got dressed and ate breakfast; since he had a little more time this morning, he detoured to the small cluster of shops near the school and bought himself a profiterole from the bakery, which he ate as he walked; during school, he still averted his gaze whenever Oikawa and Iwaizumi looked at each other in That Way, but now he silently reminded himself that he would move on and that _I’ll be okay_ ; he stopped doodling Iwaizumi’s name in his notebooks, and instead sketched fancier letterings of words relating to his class’ current topic, or if he got bored of those, then he drew silly little faces with various facial expressions. His English class teacher caught him doing so in fourth period and bopped him lightly over the head with some worksheets for his trouble. Instead of blushing and staring hard at his desk like he usually did, Hanamaki straightened his back and grinned his most charming and apologetic smile—learned from Oikawa—and promised to pay more attention, and his classmates chuckled appreciatively.  
  
Whether or not it was the little changes to his routine that actually helped to make Hanamaki feel better, he wasn’t sure. But he did know that when he arrived at the gymnasium for their first volleyball training session of the week, and found Iwaizumi and Oikawa already there and setting up one of the nets and bickering quietly about something or other, that the smile on his face was real, and it was a wonderful relief. These were the doofuses he called his friends, and he found himself pleasantly surprised at how… _okay_ he felt.  
  
He was still hurting a little, if he was being completely honest with himself, but with some time he would probably be fine. That was something to look forward to. He went to help some other first years set up one of the other nets and made small talk with them. When they were done, Oikawa and Iwaizumi went to do their warm up stretches with him.  
  
“Look, there’s a new guy,” said Iwaizumi as he stretched his arms, nodding in the direction of the captain. He was talking to a student they’d never seen before; tall, with broad shoulders, and messy black hair. He was imposing at first glance, soft at second. With a little jolt, Hanamaki realised that he must be his mother’s friend’s son. What was his name? Oh, right, he had run off before his mother could tell him.  
  
“Everyone, gather around!” their captain called a few minutes later, and they all swarmed around him. “I have a few announcements to make, but first things first, we have a new member to the club, so please make him welcome.” He gestured to the tall student beside him, who nodded a little shyly.  
  
“I’m Matsukawa Issei, first year, class three. I play middle-blocker,” he said, voice soft and deep. He bowed. “I look forward to playing with you.”  
  
———


End file.
